


Crawling Through Shadows

by WithTheKeyIsKing



Series: Somewhere Between Memories and Scars [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (refer to previous story), Awesome Irene Adler, BAMF James Bond, BAMF Jim, BAMF Q, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Criminal Masterminds, Dubious Consent, Flashbacks, I have a smidgen of a power kink, Long-Suffering Sebastian Moran, Loyalty, M/M, Mycroft IS the British Government, Poor use of chess metaphors, Protective James Bond, Protective John, Psychopaths In Love, Q is not a Damsel in Distress, Sadistic Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sorta kinda, Torture, actually almost EVERYONE seems to have a power kink, oh well, so really Jim and I would get along SWELL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-24 20:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14363478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithTheKeyIsKing/pseuds/WithTheKeyIsKing
Summary: In which torture happens, there's a shift in control, Q has a world-changing decision to make, a chess piece switches sides, and a few others rejoin the game.





	Crawling Through Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Yay Part 2! Hope you guys enjoy!

The first time Alexander attacked Jim, it caught them both by surprise.

He'd been in Jim's  _loving_ company for about seven weeks. He'd spent the first three weeks drugged out of his mind, fucking and being beaten and he remembered a knife being put into his hand, remembered Jim guiding his motions as a man screamed in front of them, remembered a flash of satisfaction, remembered words being whispered in his ear about the best way to hurt, the best way to kill, how  _good_ it would feel if he just gave in.  _Just give in, you're mine now, you beautiful creature-_

He remembered a gun in his hand and three people lined up before him, remembered Jim kissing him passionately and urging him on, remembered pulling the trigger.  _Bang, bang, bang._ He remembered Jim's crow of joy and the criminal telling him how amazing he was, how perfect, and the warm feeling in his chest because no one since his mother died when he was only four had anyone called him incredible-

Given that Alexander was not a complete idiot, he knew what was happening. He had never claimed to be a saint, never claimed to have the best set of morals. He still felt a thrill every time he pictured his father sprawled at his feet, face a bloody mess because Alexander had one day let his anger get away from him and he was  _done_ being abused.

Alexander could be cold and uncaring and he separated himself from his emotions quite easily. Jim saw all of that in him, clear from that first conversation they'd had post-rape. And the criminal was  _desperate_ to pull all that darkness out of him, desperate to build it up and up until Alexander was  _just like him-_

Jim was succeeding.

In week four, the criminal started to lighten up the drugs. An itch settled under Alexander's skin, a feeling that made him constantly twitchy. He briefly considered that maybe his body had gotten used to the drugs and was going through withdrawal, but he didn't think that was it; the restlessness settled whenever Jim pushed him to his limits, pushed him to do what he wouldn't have considered before.

His anger seemed to simmer just under the surface all the time, directed at everyone around him. Those he practiced fighting with were wary to participate, not only because they feared Jim's wrath if Alexander was truly injured, but because Alexander had a habit of exploding on them and leaving  _them_ seriously injured, despite their superior skill.

Control was something Alexander began to force himself to learn. He sunk into the dispassionate feeling he had in difficult situations, the apathy, the peace, the calm. The fights went much better after that, his movements sharp and precise instead of wild and erratic.

Whenever Jim wanted, Alexander let the criminal pull him towards his bedroom. It seemed a pointless thing to argue against, especially considering that Jim could make him feel things he'd never thought possible before.

But this time...

He'd been there for seven weeks. He was watching one of the few torturers Jim employed work a woman over. Jim was pressed up right behind him, arms circling Alexander's waist, erection obvious. Alexander just blinked, uncaring of anything around him. He admired a talented stroke of the blade in the torturer's hand, and then wrinkled his nose at a completely unnecessaryand not very painfulmotion.

"You see?" Jim murmured, his chin resting on Alexander's shoulder.

The hacker didn't have to guess at what the criminal meant. "Ridiculous," he murmured back. He felt Jim chuckle.

"You want a go?" the shorter man offered. Alexander could hear the smile in his voice, and shrugged apathetically.

"Sure," he said, stepping forward and out of Jim's embrace. He tapped the torturer on the shoulder, taking the weapon from the man's hand, and got to work. It felt like second nature, even after such a short time; those drugged weeks had left the skills somehow printed into his brain.

He heard Jim sigh behind him. "What happened to your fire, my dear?" he asked after a few moments. The woman was screaming and sobbing, so Alexander didn't really know why Jim was complaining; his work was _excellent_. He didn't bother responding.

"Did you kill your father?" Jim asked suddenly. Alexander's motions stuttered. He knew this question connected to the one before it somehow, but he didn't understand the relevance, didn't understand how Jim thought this topic could make him angry. His father was barely a  _dot_ in his rearview mirror.

"No," Alexander replied, digging his knife under the woman's skin and pealing it away. "Why?"

"Because you have some  _serious_ fucking daddy issues," Jim drawled.

Alexander felt a flash of annoyance. "That so?" he asked curiously. The woman's screams were starting to grate; why were they torturing her, again? Alexander detested not knowing.

Jim hummed. "Yup," he said, popping the  _P._ "Anytime we get a guy in here that hasn't been the  _best_ of dads you always hurt them with a bit more anger, or are more likely to put a bullet in their head as soon as I even look at you."

The hacker pursed his lips, his grip tightening on the knife. The woman's eyelids fluttered slightly, and Alexander frowned; he didn't want her passing outthen what good was she? "I always put a bullet in someone's brain as soon as I know you want me to," he pointed out.

There was a pause, and then Jim laughed. "Mm, good point, but still. It's... _different._ Kills all have flavors, my dear, and you look _soooo_ much more satisfied when you've taken out an abuser."

_Xander, stop right there you piece of shit! How dare you touch me, you little psychopath? FuckXander, back the fuck up! Ow! GoddamnShit. Hey, bud, calm down, take a breath. You messed upargh! Xander! Please! I-_

His father had begged so prettily. He'd run before delivering the final blow, though. He hadn't killed the man, just...hurt him, a little. A lot.

In his chest, Alexander's heartbeat sped up. The old itch crawled under his skin, just below the surface. He licked his lips.

"Did he fuck you?" Jim asked curiously. Alexander jerked, accidently swiping a thin cut down the woman's arm, and sucked in a sharp breath.

"No," Alexander grit out. His nerves were all tingling. He felt the urge to hurt.

"Just hit you then," Jim summed up. "What  _did_ you do, hmm? Did you ever lose control? Get ever so angry, lash out, and when it felt  _good_ you just didn't stop?"

"I stopped," Alexander whispered. He was vibrating, his father's voice yelling in his head. Suddenly Alexander felt a well of  _hate_ towards Jim, towards this man who was splitting him in two, who was starting to make him  _like_ it. The man had raped him and beaten him and drugged him and forced him to do so many things he  _never_ would've done. This man had made him  _bleed,_ and now Alexander wanted to make him bleed in return.

He heard Jim walk closer, leaning up to whisper what was sure to be more provoking words. It was a big mistake.

Alexander lashed out, slashing Jim with the wicked knife in his hand, creating along cut across his chest. Jim reared back, his face the picture of surprise  _(utterly, utterly satisfying),_ but Alexander didn't let him get far. He punched himhardacross the face, then again, and again. Then he stabbed Jim, deep in his stomach. He didn't hit any organs; in this state of utter anger, Alexander was surprised at that small amount of control.

Jim collapsed to the floor, his hands grasping at his stomach. Alexander stood, staring down at him with wild, fire-filled eyes, his breaths coming in as heaves. Then, as if in a single moment, Alexander settled into a sort of middle ground. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, accepting the cold calm the swept to meet his burning fury.

With single focus, Alexander knelt and lifted Jim into his arms, calmly carrying him to the part of the compound set up like a hospital. The doctor and nurse gaped at him as he strolled in carrying their dying boss, and didn't stop him as he laid Jim down on a metal table, cut away his jacket and shirt, and then deftly and methodically began to stitch the criminal up.

A few hours later, when Jim woke up with an oxygen mask on and an IV delivering pain meds to him in the crook of his arm, he looked at Alexander in a new light. Less like an interesting tool and more like a worthy partner.

"Do try to not underestimate me again," Alexander told him, voice quiet but not quite soft.

Jim's eyes crinkled as he grinned. Alexander couldn't help but smile back.

* * *

Q didn't know how long he'd been there. He didn't know what day it was, or what time, or when the last "session" had been, or when the next one would be. All he knew was the pain that felt like it was coming out of every single part of his body.

He was shivering, his body trying to cope with the blood-loss and multitude of injuries. Someone had stopped by some time agohe wasn't sure whento treat the worst of the wounds; clearly they didn't want him dying any time soon. Fucking sadists.

His shoulders were killing him, and the sensation was making him hallucinate his and Jim's first time, when he'd been left with his hands bound to the headboard of Jim's bed all night. He could almost feels Jim's hands on him, feel the belt licking fire across his skin, feel the brutal thrusts when Jim entered him. He moaned with desire and despair; not because of the memory itself, but because of what that memory  _represented_ when Jim had wanted him, completely and utterly.

Now the man was simply gone.

He felt the ghost of a hand cupping his cheek, and he flinched, the sensation too realtoo  _soft_ after all of the torture he'd been through. But after a few moments of the familiar fingers stroking his bruised cheek, Q leaned into it, sighing softly. "Jim," he murmured happily. He knew the man wasn't actually there; it was just his pain-filled subconscious making up something to comfort him. Frankly, he didn't care.

"You stupid man," Not-Really-Jim whispered. He stroked a hand through Q's sweaty and matted hair. "You stupid, stupid man." Q whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry," he croaked. "I justyou tried to kill me and I didn't...I was so afraid and M saved me, gave me a new purpose. I just...I...I'm so..." Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

"Hush," Jim told him. "I know."

"Will you come see me?" Q asked, even though he knew that the man was just a figment of his imagination and would simply give him the answer he wanted. Distantly, Q wondered if he was dying, and that's why this ghost of a person was there with him.

There was a pause, then, "What do you mean?" Jim asked carefully.

"Before 'Bastian kills me," Q explained. Jim should know what he meant. He was just Q, after all. "I hope you come see me, real you. I hope youI hope you do it yourself. I would like that I think, dying from your hand...If I had to pick a way to go..."

"Alec," Jim said softly, making Q shudder. "Alec, you think..."

"I missed my name," Q said miserably, pressing his face more firmly in the palm cupping his cheek. "Nine years, no one ever...I love being Q. And I was R before that. But I missed being your Alec. This last month has been sobeen so good. So I hope it's you, when I die. Will it be soon, do you think? I thought you up, so I think so. A comfort in the end, my brilliant brain giving me want I want..."

"Alec," Jim said again. "You're not going to die." Q laughed brokenly, and shook his head. "You're  _not,"_ Jim insisted fiercely. The criminal's other hand came up to Q's face and then he pushed Q's head upward.

Q blinked blearily. His vision was foggy, glassy, and he couldn't quite see clearly. A vague image of a person swam in front of him, but even blurry, Q would recognize Jim's personage anywhere. He smiled a little, because at least he could see the man he loved before he died, figment of his imagination or not.

"Burn the world, remember?" Jim said, eyes burning with passion. "I would tear  _everything_ down if it meant you'd be alright. That doesn't change just because you acted like a fucking idiot."

Q hummed, letting his eyes slide shut in contentment. "I'll remember you saying that," he sighed, turning his head slightly so that he could press a gentle kiss to one of Jim's palms. "Even though real you doesn't believe it, I still got to hear the words come out of your mouth."

"Alec," Jim said, a hint of surprised annoyance in his voice, "I'm not a hallucination."

Q just laughed, a sad and broken sound. "Yes, you are. Because Jim hates me now, and I don't blame him. I just hope he realizes that even though I came here to betray him, I still love him."

Suddenly, Jim slapped him.  _Hard._ Q gasped, head jerking to the side. His cheek had already been sensitive, covered by a large bruise, and it started throbbing painfully. He moaned. Then, Jim's hand wrapped around Q's throat, tight enough to make breathing just a  _smidge_ hard, and used the grip to push Q's head to look at him. His teeth were bared.

"I. Am.  _Real,"_ Jim snarled. "Don't reduce me, and don't reduce  _yourself._ You are so much  _better_ than a fucking  _comfort_ hallucination. Understand me?"

Q stared at the man in front of him for a few moments, blinking dumbly, and then took a sharp breath.  _"Jim,"_ he breathed. "You-" he gasped, his chest heaving. The large movements made the injuries on his chest and stomach sting painfully, but he'd been talking to Jim the whole timethe  _real_ Jimand he hadn't even realized the weight of that.

Jim's eyes crinkled in a not-quite-smile. "Hello~" he said lyrically. "Good to see you returning to the land of reality."

In his head, Q went over the whole conversation, seeing it all from a new perspective now that he knew it had actually been  _Jim_ the whole time. Jim waited patiently, knowing exactly what Q was doing. Then, after a little while, the hacker said, "You're not going to kill me."

The criminal shook his head. "No, I'm not." His voice was soft. "Neither is 'Bastian, in case you were wondering. Or anyone else who works for me. Or anyone who would try to touch you."

Suddenly, Bond popped into Q's mind.  _Shit._ Had Jim just killed him? After knowing the truth, knowing the ruse, Jim would've had absolutely no reason to keep the Double-Oh alive. In fact, in his extreme anger and betrayal, Jim was all the more likely to kill Bond to get some of it out.

"Ask," Jim said. His voice wasn't soft, but it wasn't unkind, either.

So, Q did. "Is Bond alive?"

Jim tilted his head. "What would you do if he isn't? What would you do if I'd killed him?" Jim's tone was vicious with his anger and jealously. His eyes were narrowed slightly as he examined Q for every slight reaction. But beneath all of that, Q could hear a genuine curiosity about what Q's reaction would be to Bond's death, a genuine need to know how important the Double-Oh was.

For a moment, Q tried to picture a world where James Bond was dead. And it waswell, it was utterly  _laughable._ There was no world where James Bond was dead, lest he'd grown and died a grouchy old man. Bond was one of those pieces on the board that you simply could not remove. James Bond, Jim Moriarty,  _Q,_ Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, even John Bloody Watson; the world would not continue without each of them playing their respective roles.

And it would...it would hurt Q. Just...a little. Just...a lot.

"The world would stop spinning," Q murmured honestly to Jim. Then in a flash of panic he wondered if he'd have to explain that he didn't mean his  _own_ world would stop, but this was _Jim;_ Jim always understood.

The criminal hummed, nodding slowly. "Suppose so;  _Double-Oh-Seven,_ the best of the best. A monster on the side of the angels..." Then he met Q's gaze, and his expression was just slightly lighter. "Believe it or not," Jim mused, "past punching him in the face a few times, I haven't touched one hair on his pretty little head."

Q felt a flood of relief, and his next breath came out shakily before he gained control again. "Oh," he said. "Why?"

A smile tugged at Jim's lips, sharp and with hints of anger, and just the slightest amount of teasing. "Because he's a necessary chess piece, my dear. The world does need to keep spinning, after all."

Q blinked, then blinked again, then glared at Jim. "Why the hell did you ask me then?" he snapped. "If you came to the same conclusion I did then why ask? You weren't gonna kill him."

The smile on Jim's face tightened, and then slowly faded. The criminal pursed his lips. "I wanted to see if you'd say you'd be upset, see if you'd mourn, see if you'd want to hurt me because James Bond died at my hand for no other reason than I hate him for ever daring to look at you. For ever daring to have  _you_ look at  _him."_

The hacker's shoulders were killing him. His entire body was a mass of pain. He was strung up and naked, had been tortured fordays? weeks?and was in serious need of a shower. He almost said that, almost asked Jim to  _please_ let him down and rest, finish this conversation later. But he knew that wasn't going to happen. Jim wasn't going to wait, and Q asking would only create a slight barrier between them.

So, instead, Q said, "Yes to everything you just wondered."

It was the criminal's turn to blink in surprise, and then Jim gaped at him, eyes going comically wide. Q almost laughed. The amusement died when anger and violent jealousy flared in Jim's eyes, along with a flash of (hurt? Fucking  _hell,_ Jim) something else. "Well then," he said sharply. Q could practically  _see_ how the other man was imagining murdering the Double-Oh.

"You wanted honesty," Q pointed out sharply. Jim's eyes narrowed. "I care about him, Jim, so yes, I would mourn if he'd been killed, and I'd punch you a few _dozen_ times if you were responsible. I'd definitely be bloody pissed for a while, and things between us would've been a little different." He took a breath. "But I'd fucking suck it up and move on with my life because I am the Quartermaster of both MI6 and the largest criminal organization to ever exist so death is a part of my every-bloody-day life."

For a long moment, Jim just stared at him, heavy and intense. Then he took a small step forward, close enough that Q could now feel his suit jacket against the abused skin of his chest. "Quartermaster to both, hmm?" he purred. "My pet Quartermaster?"

Q's eyes hardened.  _No, that simply won't do._

Between one breath and the next, Q kneed Jim in the groin, making the criminal double over. Q grabbed the chains attached to his wrists in his palms then pulled himself up with a small grunt. He kicked out his right leg and wrapped it around Jim's neck, jerking the hurt man towards him, and then wrapped the other one around. The new position was making his shoulders and arms scream in pain, but it was just a low burn under his cold anger.

Jim gasped, hands flying up to Q's legs in an instinctive need to clear his airway. He was bent backwards at an awkward angle in the hold, and he dropped to his knees to lessen the discomfort. For a moment they stayed there like that, then Jim took a slow, calming breath, and looked up to meet Q's gaze, cheeks bright pink, his eyes alight with contained madness, pleasure, anger, and a bit of  _curiosity._

When Q smiled, it was a cold, cruel thing.

"Let me remind you of something," he said, his voice sharp and piercing. "I am not your  _pet_ anything. I never was, and I never fucking will be. We were  _partners_  when you brought me into the fold. When I joined you, you had a couple drug lords in your control, a handful of sadists doing your bidding, a few thieves and killers who liked your style, and a doctor or two you could pay off.

"I was not your  _pet._ You didn't bring me in and parade me around then send me off to wait while you did the Big Boy Work. That's not what _happened,_ so don't pretend that it did. We built this organization  _together._ This web is  _my_ baby, my Sistine Chapel, so I swear if you call me  _pet_ or anything of the kind again I will snap your pale little neck. Am I understood?"

Jim blinked once, slowly. Then a wide, toothy grin broke out across his still-reddening face, and Q could see lust in the other man's eyes.

"Yes, Sir," Jim croaked.

Q's breath caught at the lack of sarcasm in the words, heat stirring in his gut. He cleared his throat. "Good." He couldn't look away from those hungry eyes, so instead he released Jim, allowing that to break their gazes as Jim hunched over, coughing and hacking as he sucked in a few deep breaths.

After half a minute, Jim's breathing evened out and he rolled his shoulders, then turned to face Q. He didn't get to his feet, kneeling in front of the bound man. His eyes were dark and severe, purposeful and determined. And behind all thatlove and lust.

"You," Jim said slowly, quietly, "are  _everything."_ He licked his lips. Q couldn't tear his eyes away, captured so thoroughly by the look in Jim's deep eyes, by the words passing through his plump lips. "You are  _terrifyingly_ important to me. You areyou are.  _Everything,_ to me."

Looking down at Jim felt so different. Even as partners, the idea of Jim being  _below_ him was preposterous, incomprehensible. And yet there the criminal was, willingly on his knees, looking up at Q like the hacker was the entire universe, like Q had all the power between them and Jim would follow any command  _gladly._

"I wasn't kidding when I said I'd burn the entire world for you, Alexander. All this?" he gestured around the room. "This you deserved, but it's done now. The betrayal is  _done_ now. So tell me, Alec. Direct me. Tell me what you need, what you want, what you  _desire._ Everything you want to happen, I will  _make_ happen, no matter what. You're in control. The world is at your feet, sweetheart _I_ am at your feet."

For a moment, Q was still in disbelief. What Jim was saying, what the man was  _offering_ it was fealty, it was putting himself _below_ Q. The hacker tried and tried to see any strings tied to this. He searched Jim's face for any lies, but he couldn't see anything, and he couldn't figure out a  _reason_ for it to be a lie. But Jim was like Q, always had been; being in control was unbelievably important to them.

Then again, Q's loophole to that had always been Jim. Even while he was terrified, even while he hated himselfor Jimfor giving into the criminal's whims, Jim was always something  _different._ Someone who was...not  _deserving,_ exactly, but who when in control of Q was still always his equal.

Maybe Jim's loophole was Q.

Or maybe, in that moment, Jim was just caught up by his pesky emotions. Maybe Jim was looking at Q, his partner, the sole person he loved, and was  _feeling_ so much that he couldn't help but bare himself like that. Maybe tomorrow morning Jim would wake up and laugh at the idea of ever giving Q all the power. Maybe tomorrow would be a day like any other working in the Moriarty organization. Or maybe he'd even put a bullet in Q's head, after all.

Whatever the truth, Q couldn't turn it down right then.

"I'd like to be unchained," Q said, his voice surprisingly even given all of the factors of the situation, both emotional/mental and physical. "Then I'd like a shower, and then all of my injuries treated. I would like to see Bond afterwards to check on him myself, and then a long, good-night's sleep. What I want in the following days and the future can be decided tomorrow."

Before Q was even finished talking, Jim was moving, slowly lowering the chains and unlocking the manacles. Q moaned as his shoulders shifted, the movements sending hot bursts of pain through him, along with the stretching of all his other injuries. Jim ran a hand through the hacker's hair as he helped Q to the ground, brushing the sweaty, matted strands away from his forehead.

For a few moments, neither of them moved, Q settled against Jim's chest and Jim's arms wrapped around the taller man. Q matched his breathing to Jim's, and when they were perfectly in sync, he shifted. Knowing exactly what Q was doing, Jim shifted as well, putting himself into a better position to help Q stand again.

The hacker let out a small grunt of pain and swayed on his feet, gripping tightly to Jim's arms as his head spun. Everything hurt; his shoulders were screaming, his back throbbing, and he could feel some of the cuts on his chest and stomach reopening.

"Shit," he cursed.

"Been a while," Jim mused with slightly-forced levity as they moved towards the door. "Nothing like a nice torture session, huh?"

Q shot the other man a poisonous glare. "How long?"

"A week," Jim replied promptly. Q's breathing stuttered. "I know," Jim said, his voice surprisingly soft, but not regretful. "But this had to-"

"I know," Q interrupted, because he really did. Jim didn't need to explain.

Once they exited the cell, Sebastian came into view, having been waiting right outside. He looked Q over with a critical eye and then stepped forward, lifting the hacker in one fluid motion. Q let out a strangled cry and panted heavily. His head spun when they began to move, and he closed his eyes.

A while later, Sebastian put him down, and Q blinked his eyes open to see that the three of them were in one of Jim's black towncars. It was bright outside, maybe midday. At some point his eyes must have slid shut again, because when Jim put a hand on his arm to rouse him, Q saw that they were in front of Jim's apartment complex and not the building he'd been tortured in for the last week.

Once again, Sebastian lifted and carried him, but this time Q muttered curses and insults under his breath, because having to be  _carried_ was ridiculous. And yet he knew that if he tried to walk on his own he'd be less than successful. Even though his eyes were closed again, Q just  _knew_ that there was a slight smile on Sebastian's face.

Somewhere along the way they must have gotten to Jim's apartment, and his bedroom, and then his bathroom, because suddenly warm water was running through his hair and down his body, stinging his wounds and soothing his muscles. He let out a slow, shaky sigh.

Jim was humming under his breath, an old Irish song Q recognized. The shorter man was almost entirely supporting Q's weight; Jim was strong, but he wasn't strong enough to keep the hacker standing  _and_ help him wash, which seemed to be the criminal's intent. So Jim slowly lowered Q to the small bench inside the shower. Q winced as the lashes across his thighs took his pressure, but the pain ebbed away as Jim began to scrub shampoo into Q's matted, black locks.

At some point his eyes slid shut again and he must've drifted off to sleep once more, because he startled when he felt a needle being pushed into his stomach.

Q looked around wildly, having a brief flash of panic that he was back in that room and Sebastian was back for another session, but his fear went away when a familiar hand cupped his cheek and a familiar voice shushed him.

"You're fine, my dear," Jim murmured, "Just a local anesthetic; numbin' you up so I can stitch up the cuts on your stomach. Do you want a sedative? Might be a good idea, considering how much needs to be treated."

Q was shaking his head before Jim was even done speaking. "No," he mumbled, blinking heavily, "No, I need to...see Bond. And..." his voice trailed off, his eyes sliding shut again. Sleep pulled at him.

"Of course, love," Q heard Jim reply indulgently as he drifted. "Next time you open your eyes, you can go check on your pet Double-Oh agent."

There was another pinch of a needle, this time in his upper-arm, and Q let himself be pulled away by the gentle wave of unconsciousness, Jim's sweet, methodical humming lulling him peacefully to sleep.

On the other side of London, the head of MI6 rose from his chair to greet the British Government for a necessary conversation.

* * *

The first thing Q became aware of when he woke up was a smaller body pressed against his back, breathing even but not deep enough to convey actual sleep.

"It's five-twenty-three in the morning, May 15th, eight days after we locked you up, twelve hours after I sedated you. Every injury that required treatment has received itso _do_ try not to rip your stitchesand everything else has been properly looked at."

Just like always, Jim knew what he wanted before he even began to voice it.

Very slowly, wincing all the while, Q turned over to face Jim. When he settled again their faces were barely two inches apart, and Q examined Jim's dark eyes. He could see bruises on Jim's neck, faint but there, a leftover of when Q choked him with his legs. The sight made Q think about the offer yesterday, about Jim placing the world _their_ world _their_ organizationat his feet, ripe for his taking. He remembered Jim kneeling of his own volition, lust and love and determination in his eyes as he told Q  _Direct me._

He wondered, once again, if the offer had been lasting. If Jim was actually handing the reins of what they'd builtand what Jim had built even further, after The Incidentto Q.

A giddy thrill of excitement went through Q, making his shiver.

So many weeks ago, Q had looked at M in the older man's office and wondered how on earth he had enough faith in Q to stand at the top of the most dangerous criminal organization to ever exist and then ignore the power. And that was when he'd just be Jim's partner, and even then a step below the criminal. If Jim was being honest, Q would _literally_ be the head of the organization.

The power in that, the stretch of the organization...he would have _so much._ He'd be untouchable; M would never be able to compile enough evidence on him. Jim was proven to be real, they knew he was guilty and would have to stick to the shadows, but  _Q..._ Q could...

 _I think you don't give yourself enough credit, Q._  Dammit, M.

"I meant it," Jim told him. Always reading Q's mind. "You're my partner, have been since you were seventeen years old and I hadn't even realize what I'd gotten."

"You mean when you drugged me and raped me?" Q asked with a raised eyebrow, tone not accusatory. They were a messed up pair, and Q had moved past their beginning a long time ago.

Jim made a face, but nodded all the same. "Burn the world," he hissed passionately, baring his teeth. His hands rose and tightly cupped Q's face. "Whatever you want, Alec,  _I swear it,_ because  _you are mine and I am yours_ and none of this means anything if you aren't here. So it's all yours."

"You certainly took my week of torture as a time to think," Q mused lightly, rolling his eyes in fond  _(pleased)_ exasperation.

To the hacker's surprise, Jim nodded, his expression grave. "You deserved it, Q. You  _betrayed_ me. But I found the file of information you'd be compiling for M, and what you said was trueconsidering the fact that you had access to  _everything,_ you barely had anything in that file. And you  _love me,_ I know you do. You  _have_ to. So I thought and you are  _mine,_ aren't you? Because I most certainly belong to you."

Q surged forward, capturing Jim's lips in a passionate, forceful kiss. The bruises across his jaw throbbed in pain but it was so incredibly worth it as Jim pressed back against him just as hard, one arm wrapping around his back in a tight grip, a leg sliding between Q's own and pushing against his growing erection.

The hacker gasped at the sudden friction and Jim hummed low in his throat, deep and satisfied, and then rolled them over so that Q was on top of the smaller man. Q's breath caught. The look in Jim's eyes, behind the lust, supported everything that Jim had just been saying:  _You're in the driver's seat, Alec._

For a momenta single, solitary momentQ had absolutely no idea what he was going to do. What he  _should_ do was pull away. He should nip it in the bud right there and then. He didn't have a cover to protect and Jim wasn't tying him down or drugging him or forcing him to be there; he was, like Jim said, in complete and utter control. This moment was the part where he pulled back and did his goddamn job.

But...

But Jim was sprawled out underneath him, not trying to switch their positions, not trying to manipulate him into anything. He was just... _waiting._ He was ready to take whatever Q dished out. Andgoing by the obvious bulge pressing up against Qthe criminal was looking forward to it.

A little bit ago, Jim had offered Q the world. Now, Jim was offering Q  _himself._ And for the life of him Q could not say no.

Q surged downward, once again kissing Jim with everything he had. The kiss was violent, the two of them biting at each other's lips, their teeth clashing, their tongues stabbing like knives. It was passionate and horrible and everything they'd ever been together, but this time  _Q_ was wholly and completely initiating with the sole reason of  _wanting_ to.

When Jim rose his hands to the headboard and tightened the handcuffs that were there around his wrists, Q actually moaned. A slow, filthy grin spread across Jim's face.

"Take me apart,  _Q,"_ Jim purred.

So, Q did.

* * *

Afterwards, a few of Q's injuries had to be re-stitched, and Jim had a few new wounds he, himself, needed to have treated. Sebastian didn't say anything as he fixed them up, but there was a pleased smirk on his lips the whole while. Jim, as well, couldn't keep the wideslightly manicgrin off his face.

Practically everything hurt, but Q had become very good at ignoring pain a long time ago (when in the house of an abusive father and then in the company of Jim Moriarty, one needed to be good at such a thing). Because of this, Q wasn't letting his injuries stop him from going to see Bond in person. And to the hacker's continuous surprise, Jim wasn't stopping him.

They had, apparently, not moved Bond from where they'd been holding him before, still in that same room-cell in the warehouse. To Q's annoyance, he had to allow Sebastian to support him when he walked, which though it made sense (a week of torture was bound to have left a lasting impression), was still beyond frustrating.

Before opening the door, Q paused and took a moment. The last time he'd seen Bond, the agent had accused _(not accused, he was worried, calm down)_ Q of being in over his head, caught up in Jim's world, and unable to fulfill the mission he'd been sent in to do. Q had refused to acknowledge that Bond had a point, but that was far behind them now. And after everything he'd just done with Jimcould he honestly look Bond in the eye and once again try to say he was still firmly on MI6's side?

 _"Being here is_ breaking _you, Q, and you'll break even more if you decide to turn against Moriarty."_ That's what Bond had said. _If. If, if, if._

Q couldn't even deny it, certainly not anymore. Jim had knelt at his feet and offered him control of the organization, and _oh,_ how Q _wanted_ it. _A spider at the center of a web,_ Sherlock Holmes had called Jim. _A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances._ How right the detective had been. Q knew. He'd experienced it firsthand. And he wanted it.

The hacker could feel Jim watching him. Not head-onJim would never be so obviousbut out of the corner of his eye, shrewd and searching. Briefly, Q wondered what Jim would do if one of Q's first commands as the head was to keep Bond around (and, of course, _alive)_ , at least until a solution could be worked out; it's not like they could just let him gohe was a Double-Oh, and would run back to tell M everything. A raid would be underway in no time. That is, _if_ Q chose to say yes to the offer. If, if, if.

Q let go of Sebastian, briefly wincing as he adjusted his weight to hold himself upright on his own, and the straightened, raising his chin to pull his air of confidence and control around himself. Bond would easily be able to tell how hurt Q was, but the hacker would be _damned_ to let it show.

Having known Q for so long, Sebastian didn't need a verbal command to take a couple steps forward and open the wooden door. The soldier then moved back again, standing just a step behind Q's lft shoulder. Jim mirrored the positioning on his right. One step behind. Wasn't that the oddest thing.

When the door opened, Bond stood up from where he'd been doing push-ups on the ground. The signs of the beating he'd received were obvious. His face was puffy, almost-black purple around his left eye, an array of blues and purples and greens along his chin and up his cheek. There was a cut at the edge of his eye, the skin having split under the force of the punches. He was shirtless just like last time, so the mess of bruises across his chest and stomach were violently clear and were Q not used to seeing injuries far worse than that, nausea would've turned his stomach. The agent was favoring his right side slightly and his breathing was catching every few breaths; probably a cracked rib or two.

Bond's eyes were flicking all over Q, as well, his gaze hard and mouth pinched into a thin line as he tracked all of the hacker's injuries.

"You're alive," the agent said evenly. He glanced at Jim and Sebastian, taking in the way the two men stood just a step behind Q.

"If I were dead," Q told Bond with slightly forced levity, "you would be, too."

Bond's face twitched in a slight frown. "Would you mind?" he said. His words were clearly directed at Jim, but he never took his eyes off of Q. "I'd like a moment to speak to him. Alone."  _He doesn't know what happened,_ Q realized.

"No real point," Q said with a shrug, glancing away. He carefully hid the wince that that motion triggered, but Bond seemed to have seen it. "There are cameras and microphones that can see and hear any conversation we have right here."

Q saw understanding dawn in Bond's eyes; he knew that Jim had heard their conversation a week ago, and that why Q had been tortured and the Double-Oh had been beaten. He probably didn't understand why he himself wasn't dead yet.

"At least we would have the illusion of privacy," Bond replied, raising an eyebrow.

After a hesitant moment, Q tilted his head towards Jim, showing that he'd like to grant Bond's request. Briefly, Q thought Jim might refuse him, as he would've in the past. But Jimthough having his eyes narrowed hatefully towards Bonddidn't hesitate to bounce on his heels and turn away, heading off down the hall and calling for Sebastian to go with him. Q's breath caught as he saw another piece of proof that Jim's offer was genuine.

"Why?" Bond asked, his voice forcibly level.

Though there were  _many_ questions Bond could currently be askingand he was sure to ask them soonQ knew precisely what the agent was asking about right then. However, the truth would lead to a long conversation that Q  _really_  didn't want to have just yet  _(or ever)_ so instead he shrugged and said, "Maybe it amuses him to give others the illusion of control. Who knows why Jim Moriarty does anything?"

"You do," Bond shot back with narrowed eyes. Q remained silent. Bond sighed and visibly pulled back his agitation. "I know why _you're_ not dead, but why am I alive?" was his next question, which Q had easily guessed it would be.

The truth to this question, as well, would probably lead to a long conversation in which Q would have to explain quite a lot about the way Jim's mind worked, which was not something Q ever wanted to discuss with anyone because no one would  _understand._

Well, Sherlock Holmes might. Wasn't  _that_ an interesting idea. Q felt amused as he pictured himself having a cup of tea with his consulting criminal's archenemy, the pair discussing the strange way Jim Moriarty worked. Q wondered if Sherlock was as good as Jim seemed to think he was. From long ago memories, Q thought he might be.

"Because he considers you useful, as far as I can tell." There. Not quite a lie, but not quite the truth, either.  _You, James Bond, are a chess piece that simply cannot be removed. The world would stop spinning._

From the look on Bond's face, Q figured that the Double-Oh knew that that wasn't the complete truth, but just like the last question, he was going to let it slide.

"Should I be concerned?" Bond asked next.

The immediate answer that came to mind was  _No,_ but then Q realized that Bond wasn't asking about whether or not he would be killed; he was asking if he should be worried about  _Q,_ and not just physically.

"I..." Q bit his lip, glancing away. His throat felt tight. "I don't know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bond walked closer to the bars. "Q," he murmured, "it's not too late. I can get us both out of hereI know the layout, and you have all the passcodes. Just open the door, and we can go back to HQ, regroup, come up with another plan." He must've seen something in Q's expression, because he straightened, and there was that pitying look in his eyes, the same one he'd had the last time they spoke. "Dammit, Q," he said, without any heat.

"Stop it," Q snapped. "You just-" he scowled, and that familiar anger rose to the surface, making him clench his jaw against the urge to break something. If Jim were at his side right then, the criminal would've been whispering in his ear, egging him on. Q felt himself almost  _longing_ for it, which made him suppress a shudder.

"The day before you left MI6, when I visited you in your office, do you remember what I said?" Bond asked after a few long moments.

"Which part?" Q asked dryly, relaxing his body bit by bit. "You sure had a  _lot_ of opinions then, ranging from my lack of competence to how you had the right to know my deep dark past."

Bond rolled his eyes, but it seemed less purely amused and more a deliberate way to try and connect with Q again. Q decided to let himself believe it was 100% fond like Bond wanted it to be. "I was referring to the last thing I said."

_"I have full confidence in your ability to pull this off, Q. I'm just afraid of what's going to be left of you after you complete it."_

Q shrugged, his heart pounding. "I don't quite recall," he said breezily. "I had a lot going on that day."

The Double-Oh sent him a look. "You have a photographic memory," he deadpanned. Q pursed his lips. "Say it," Bond then said, his voice a lot softer.

No. Q didn't want to go over that conversation in his head. He didn't want to think about the way Bond held him against his chest like he never wanted to let go, like Q was the most important thing in the entire world. The way Bond had practically begged Q not to go on this mission, the way Q had felt viciously satisfied when he attacked Bond, how he felt lead settle in his stomach when he threatened to shoot the agent.

But.

It was Bond asking him. Bond, who was currently a madman's prisoner because of Q. Bond, who was using that tone of voice that he'd only ever used when talking to Q, softer and kinder and more loving than he'd ever been.

"You said," Q whispered, "that you believed in my ability to complete this mission, but you were afraid of what was going to be left of me when it was all over."

"I still feel the exact same way," Bond told him evenly. "But you know what? Screw the fucking mission."

Q blinked once. Then again. Becausewhat? James Bond, MI6's top Double-Oh, the ultra-patriot, the man who lived by  _For Queen and Country,_ had just said...screw the mission?

"Uhwhat?" Q sputtered. That didn't make any sense. Double-Oh-Seven would go to his  _grave_ protecting MI6's interests. Why was he...it didn't make any sense.

Bond took one last step, leaving him right in front of the bars, almost pressed against them. If Q walked three steps forward, he'd be close enough to feel the heat radiating off of the agent.

"Q," Bond said, in that same soft voice.

The hacker shuddered and took a step back instead of forward. "Don't," he warned.

"Do you remember Abuja?" Bond asked out of nowhere, leaning against the bars and ignoring the dangerous tone.

_How could I fucking forget._

"As in the Nigerian capital?" Q asked with a raised eyebrow, quirking his lips in forced amusement. "Kind of hard to forget an entire city."

Once again, Bond ignored his comment, letting the deflection wash right over him. "I know you must've read the report when it was all done, after you were out of the hospital. And you grilled me about it, of course." Fond amusement passed over his face. "Over and over again, actually. You wanted to know every single detail down to the last second."

"Yes, I remember," Q snapped, not getting the point of bringing up that particular...well, clusterfuck.

Q could count four times he'd been truly terrified for his life. The first was when he was ten and his father wouldn't stop beating him, even as Q screamed as his ribs snapped inside his chest. The second time was when he was twenty-one, and the safehouse he and Jim had been staying in was found outtwenty highly trained mercenaries broke in with the intention of killing them, and they just barely escaped with their lives. The third time was when Jim tried to kill him.

The forth was what happened in Abuja.

"The report was falsified," Bond told Q in the tone he used when delivering information to M. "And I lied to you about what happened."

Q straightened. "Excuse me?" he demanded dangerously. Fire licked at his bones, anger making his veins thrum. "After  _everything_ that happened to me thenand you  _lied?_ Lied about  _what,_ exactly? And  _why?_ Why would you-" he took a deep, (hopefully) calming breath. "Tell me. Now."

"After you were taken," Bond began evenly, never breaking eye contact, "I tracked down every possible lead to find where they'd taken you. You'd been in my protection at the time, and I'd let you slip through my grasp. I was angry, at myself and at the terrorists we'd been tracking. And I was..." he cleared his throat. "I was terrified. They kept sending clips of your torture, of what they were  _doing_ to you. So when I found them..." he shook his head, jaw clenching.

"Double-Oh-Six and Double-Oh-Nine had been called in as soon as I was taken, and the three of you tracked down my location with the help of R back at HQ. Along with an MI6 strike team, the three of you raided the base, killed the hostiles, and brought me back to England," Q said succinctly. He had that file memorized, front to back. Like Bond saidhe knew every single second.

But Bond shook his head.

"The members of the strike team were all out canvasing when R told us where you were, following small leads or trying to find a trail from where you'd been taken. M ordered us to hold our position and wait for the team, but we had to move _soon_ , so Trevelyan, Cederic, and I went to the location. We each took an entrance and went in. I found you first. You were-" his jaw clenched again, his hands turning to fists at his sides.

"You were  _destroyed,_ Q. I thought you were dead, because you were covered in so much blood and your skin was flayed and you were hanging completely limp from the ceiling. Your entire body was a mass of injuries. I saw red. So, I destroyed  _them._

"There were twenty-five hostiles total. Trevelyan took out three, and Cederic got five. I killed the remaining seventeen, and not with simple bullets to the head. Snapped necks, severed spinal cords, heads slammed against the floor too many times...I could tell you the seventeen brutal deaths I committed, but I don't believe that's necessary. When Alec told me you were alive I grabbed you, got you to a chopper, and didn't look back.

"I'd saved the lives of each of the strike team members in the past, so they agreed immediately to saying they were there and covering it up. Six and Nine are Double-Ohswe tend to stick together, so they didn't even hesitate to change the story. And somehow, though M  _knew_ the truth, he let us cover it up. There were no repercussions for the torture I inflicted  _not_ for MI6 or England, but just for  _you._

"And I knew that telling you the truth was a bad idea, because then we'd be forced to cross that invisible line as I explained that M had ordered me to stand down and it didn't even  _occur_ to me to do anything other than go after you right away. You'd have to listen to me explain that M could've threatened me with  _prison,_ with charges of  _treason,_ and I _still_ would've immediately left to save you.

"So yes, Q,  _screw the fucking mission._ I don't give a bloody fuck about this organization being taken down if it means I have to watch you, once again, be destroyed, if in a different fashion. Screw M and everything he wants. I would-" Bond's breath hitched, and wasn't that a sound that Q never thought he'd hear? "I would do unspeakable things for you, Q, so open the fucking door and let me do them."

_I would burn the world and everyone with it._

Who'd've thought that Jim Moriarty and James Bond had one major, giant thing in common.

And Q...Well, Q could simply not handle the overload.

The hacker's knees buckled and he dropped, crying out as all his injuries jolted when he hit the floor. He heard Bond shout his name and then he heard Jim doing it, too, their voicesnormally so different, but the tone of concern so the samemixing together until Q couldn't tell them apart. He felt familiar hands grab his face and tilt up his head. A head swam in his vision and a voice was asking if he could hear them and a small light was shining is his eyes and, and, and-

He was being lifted, thick, strong arms preparing to take him away. "No," he croaked.

Everythingall sounds, all movementsstopped.

Q closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, centering himself. Without opening his eyes, he pulled himself out of Sebastian's grasp and forced himself into holding himself upright, even though his head felt foggy, light-headed, cloudy. Then, everything shifted. His mind settled. Calm rolled over him, and he opened his eyes.

Jim was standing right next to him, gaze intense and slightly manic as he stared at Q. His hands were twitching like he was desperate to reach out and touch. Sebastian was directly behind him, ready to catch him if he fell. And Bond was directly in front of him, hands gripping the metal bars like he wanted to rip them away, his stare focused like Jim and yet so very different.

Q smiled and took Jim's hand. Everything fell into place.

"So," he said casually, tilting his head as he looked at the agent, "would you like to run the world with us, Bond?"

* * *

_**Six Weeks Later** _

Mycroft Holmes was not one who enjoyed asking his little brother for help.

He also wasn't one who was stupid enough to ignore what a great resource his little brother was just because it annoyed him to act on it. So there he was, walking up the steps of 221B Baker Street with a serious issue that MI6 didn't seem capable of handling objectively, which was a serious cause for concern. It also happened to do with a topic that the younger Holmes was well-versed in.

"Just come in!" Sherlock shouted from the other side of the flat door. "Your hesitation on my doorstep is irritating."

Mycroft stifled the annoyance that flashed through him and did as requested, opening the door and entering the detective's living room. Dr. Watson was sitting in his regular armchair reading a newspaper, and Sherlock was standing in front of his music stand, scribbling away at the sheets in front of him. Both men looked over when Mycroft came in, the doctor with a polite smile and Sherlock with an irritated huff.

"Well?" he asked impatiently. "What do you want?"

All throughout the time Mycroft had been decided whether or not he wanted to bring this to Sherlock's attention, he'd been considering the way to break the news. It would hit his younger brother like a sack of bricks, and Mycroftthough not  _good_ with emotionunderstood that this was a topic he needed to be slightly... _gentle_ about. He had come up with the perfect phrasing for the reveal to make it slightly easier.

All that went out the window when confronted by how  _annoying_ his brother was.

"James Moriarty is alive," Mycroft said bluntly.

The newspaper Dr. Watson was reading ripped as his hands jerked, and Sherlock had gone completely frozen, his hand hanging in the air, still and unmoving.

"What?" the doctor asked in a low, dangerous voice. He got to his feet, facing Mycroft just like a soldier. Sherlock still hadn't moved, but every once in a while his eyes would dart from side to sideMycroft knew that his younger brother was going over what happened on the rooftop, trying to see whatever he'd missed. Mycroft suppressed a wince; he shouldn't have let his annoyance get the better of him. He should've been more tactful.

"It seems that he faked his death and remained in the shadows for some years so that the attention would fully leave him and his organization, and about a year ago he began actively working again, not that we were aware of it until just under four months ago."

The room was silent, both Dr. Watson and Mycroft looking at Sherlock, waiting for what he would do. They waited in silence for a minute, then another. Dr. Watson began pacing, muttering angrily under his breath. Mycroft continued to watch his little brother.

Eventually (four minutes and six seconds later), Sherlock snapped back into himself, rolling his shoulders and straightening before turning to face Mycroft. "If you've known for four months, why am I only just  _now_ finding out about it?"

This was the tricky part. Since James Moriarty entered his brother's life approximately six years ago, Mycroft had debated whether or not to introduce Sherlock to the one person in the world who actually knew Moriarty better than the younger Holmes, and definitely more  _intimately._  He'd debated whether or not he wanted to reveal the _older_ connection they shared, as well, from long ago.

He never had told Sherlock any of it, and he still felt that that had been the right decisionSherlock would never have been able to let the younger man go, and Mycroft knew that the coder had only ever wanted to leave his history in the past. Which, frankly, Mycroft had wanted to respect. However, Sherlock's lack of knowledge now made this a lot more difficult.

Still, that years-old secret didn't need to be told to Sherlock  _just_ yet, did it? Only the first part was actually relevant. Yes, that was all. It was the right thing to do.

"There was an MI6 agent who had a particular... _in_ that we chose to utilize to attempt to take Moriarty's organization down from within," Mycroft said carefully.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Are you kidding me? You sent some  _agent_ into an organization to try and fool  _Jim Moriarty?_ That's idiotic! Especially since you had  _me,_ the only person to ever get so close to him! You should've brought me in on this!"

Mycroft smiled tightly. "You might've been able to draw him out, true, maybe into another game if he knew that you knew he was alive. Which meant we could probably capture him. But, you see, it's not just  _him_ we want, Sherlock. There are hundreds of people who are under him throughout the world, probably more we're unaware of; Moriarty is not someone to break and give up his people, no matter the... _circumstances_ he's in, so capturing him alone would mean losing all of them. The agent we sent in-"

"Had some sort of in, yes, I heard you," Sherlock snapped. He still didn't look happy, even less so now that he'd been chastised.

Mycroft sighed internally; these were two worlds the elder Holmes had never wanted to integrate.

"The agent didn't just have  _some in,"_ Mycroft said crisply.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "What's going on, Mycroft?"

  _Here we go._ He took a deep breath. "Seventeen years ago, when Moriarty was just beginning to build what is now practically an empire, he encountered a young hacker. To this day we're not quite sure how they met or how they bonded, but they were partners almost instantly. The organization began to expand rapidly, the two of them building it together. Then nine years ago Moriarty bashed his partner's head in with a rock. The man survived, and after recovering he began working for MI6. This secret was very well-guarded, only known to M, myself, and the man himself."

Sherlock, understandably, looked floored. "Moriarty had a  _partner_ for eight years? As in an equal in his organization?"

Mycroft shrugged slightly. "Just about."

"And so when you learned the organization was still running you decided to send your agent in undercover," Sherlock extrapolated, nodding. "One flaw with that plan: why wouldn't Moriarty just kill the man? He'd tried in the pastquite violently, apparently," he added in a murmur, looking thoughtful.

"Don't be an idiot, Sherlock," Mycroft chastised. "Deduce what M and I had that made us confident Moriarty wouldn't kill the agent."

Visibly resisting snapping back at his elder brother, Sherlock scowled but then his eyes went slightly distant, his hands steepling unconsciously under his chin.

Mycroft took the moment to look over at Dr. Watson, who had been strangely quiet during the whole interaction. The doctor looked back at him and said, "Just when I think we're finally free of that psychopath, he makes an appearance." His voice was soft and he was looking at Sherlock with such sadness, such  _love,_ that it briefly made Mycroft uncomfortable.

This would be very hard for John, too, Mycroft realized. The doctor had loved Sherlock from practically the moment they'd met, and he'd had to watch as Sherlock chased after and became fascinated by another man, one who was much smarter and could match Sherlock perfectly. Then the man had been dead, and so much more loss had happened, and then when Mary died the pair had finally gotten their chance to be together. Then with Euros, Moriarty had made a guest appearance, and Sherlock had been twitchy and distant for weeks afterwards. That had been six months ago, and their life was now perfectly balanced. Everything was going to be completely thrown out of whack now.

"It was a crime of passion," Sherlock breathed, eyes wide. He looked so shocked, his mind so blown, which Mycroft figured was understandableeven Sherlock, who had gotten glimpses of Moriarty's slightly-softer side, had never imagined the man capable of actual  _love._

"So?" Dr. Watson asked. His jaw was set in determination.

"So Jim  _loved_ this other man," Sherlock told him excitedly. He'd uncovered a great secret about a man who'd always fascinated him, and it was exciting to him. Less so to John, though the doctor tried to hide it well. "Nine years ago he must've realized it was a weakness and acted in the momentwhy else use a rock to bash the guy's skull in? A gun or a knife would be so much more efficient if he'd felt the need to get rid of the man. No, it was  _passion,_ it was-" he laughed. "God, it was  _love."_

Mycroft nodded. "That's the conclusion we came to, as well. Nine years of thinking the man you love is dead is sure to fill you with some regrets, even if you're James Moriarty. So when he showed back up again, there was no way Moriarty was going to waste the chance. That's what we were banking on, anyhow."

Instantly, Sherlock's expression sobered. "What happened?"

Mycroft sighed. "Quite a lot..."

* * *

Q pursed his lips, staring at the computer screen in front of him.

"Is that really the direction you want to be going, Bond?" he asked lightly, pulling up various camera feeds so he could see the Double-Oh from multiple angles. Said Double-Oh looked directly into one of the cameras as he stalked down the alleyway, raising an eyebrow.

 _"Well, Q, out of the two of us, who has_ actually _participated in field missions?"_ Bond shot back dryly.

In the past, when working together at MI6, that retort would've worked just fine. But by this point, Bond ought to've known better. "Both of us," Q re-informed the agent with a smirk. "But by all means, continue heading in that direction. It's only taking you directly towards a group of very angry gunmen, but what do I know; it's not like I'm a  _field_ agent or anything..."

As Bond engaged the five criminals attempting to kill him, Q heard the agent mutter, _"I'm definitely going to be paying for that field missions comment later."_

Q's smirk widened. "You're paying for it now. Twelve more about to hit you."

 _"Any time Moran wants to make an appearance might be appreciated!"_ Bond growled, annoyed, as the aforementioned twelve hostiles arrived on the scene and engaged.

"But Agent Bond!" Jim called happily from where he twirling joyfully behind Q. "However will you have any  _fun_ with help?"

 _"Not dying is pretty fun!"_ Bond yelled, shooting the nearest camera an exasperated look. Q laughed.

The past six weeks had been...interesting. It had taken them all a while to fit together, especially with so many tempers running hot. Jim had taken to throwing knives at Bond whenever the two disagreedwhich, in the beginning, was oftenand Bond had been throwing barbs non-stop at Jim as if he _wanted_ to get a violent reaction from the man.

Two weeks in and Q and Sebastian had been ready to shoot them both in the head just to stop the constant fighting. Instead, Sebastian had come up with an idea that had worked surprisingly wellhe'd staged a kidnapping of Q and then vanished, forcing the Double-Oh and the consulting criminal to work together to find the hacker. Both had been certifiably pissed afterwards, but they'd worked together brilliantly, and since that event they'd gotten along relatively well. They'd seemed to reach some sort of understanding, and the four of them were now a pretty good team.

Them getting along had brought Q far more happiness than he'd realized it would.

"'Bastian, what's your ETA?" Q asked. Bond sent the camera another exasperatedslightly annoyedlook, making the hacker chuckle again. "Honestly, 007, did you think I'd actually send you out there against all those men without back-up at the ready? What do you take me for?"

"Tsk, tsk," Jim murmured, shaking his head theatrically.

 _"Ten seconds out,"_ Sebastian grunted into his comm, and then sure enough he appeared in the alleyway, jumping right into the fight and aiming for headshots with his pistol.

"Gotta say," Jim purred, leaning over Q's shoulder as they watched the two blond men take out their opponents. "There's something terribly attractive about competent killers."

Q hummed in agreement; it was most certainly not the first time he had acknowledged enjoying watching the agents he supervised easily beat the people they were fighting. 

Simultaneously, Bond and Sebastian shot two separate cameras smug, shark-like grins. Also simultaneously, Q and Jim rolled their eyes. "How about the two of you focus more on not dying than on preening, yes?" Q sighed, but a smile tugged at his lips.

This life he was living, this life he'd had for the past month, it was everything he ever could've wanted. And hell if it didn't terrify him.

Ever since Bond had put his loyalty to Q above his loyalty to England, ever since Q had taken Jim up on his offer of control, things had all been coming up roses. He had Jim at his side, the man he'd lovedfor better or fucking  _worse_ since he was seventeen; he had a soldier, an assassin, in Sebastian, who would do anything he asked of him with no questions asked; and then there was...James.

James, who didn't push for anything more than the strange, strong bond (heh, pun not intended) they seemed to share. James, who since the fake kidnapping hadn't seemed jealous of Q's relationship with Jim, who had put a bullet in the head of a kneeling, unarmed gun-runner without hesitation simply because Q had looked at the agent and James had _understood._ James, who loved Q and was perfectly content settling for the only kind of love Q could give him in return.

James, who would burn the world for him.

The power of controlling the largest, most well-put together criminal organization was intoxicating. It was why Q had looked at M about three months ago and felt a moment of despair and disbelief; how was he going to turn that down when it was offered? But that power, that  _incredible_ power, was  _nothing_ compared to having James Moriartyone of the most dangerous men in the worldand James Bondone of the  _other_ most dangerous men in the world, if in a slightly different fashionwilling to do anything and everything for him.

Every once in while, when one of them did something to remind him of it, Q could practically feel himself tingling from how utterly  _incredible_ that felt.

Any hope of actually returning to MI6 as a loyal agent got crushed a little bit more every time they proved their unending loyalty to him.

The last of the hostiles went down, Sebastian putting two more bullets in the guy's chest to get out some last aggression, and then the two ex-soldiers began making their way to the evac point.

 _"Remind me why we needed to go in person to get this thing,"_ Sebastian grumbled once they were in the car, on their way base to the base of operations.

Q turned his gaze skyward, taking a deep breath. He could see Jim smirking in his peripheral vision. The shorter man answered the question, saving Sebastian from what was sure to be Q's sharp, irritated tone.

"Becaaauuusssseee," Jim said, drawing the word out, "the hard drive was removed from the computer any time the guy wasn't using his laptopa sign of pure paranoia, and one I can appreciate. So, since trying to time a hack  _just right_ to when he'd be using the computer would be unnecessarily complicated, it was simpler to just send you lot in to steal the hard drive and the information it possesses."

"As I explained previously," Q added in the expected sharp tone.

When James spoke, his smirk was clear.  _"Well it certainly wasn't as subtle as a hack would be."_

Jim laughed at the look on Q's face. "You know how easily I could  _'forget'_ to erase the footage of you killing those people?" Q snarked. "Wouldn't do anything to 'Bastian's reputation but  _yours,_ on the other hand..."

There was a pause, and for a moment Q felt bad; James had been serving Queen and Country for half of his life and now he was working for the Moriarty organization. The job description was exactly the same but the motivations behind the murders and thefts and everything else were completely different. James had betrayed everything he'd ever believed in for Q, and Q had just thrown that in his face.

But James only said, tone dry and not offended,  _"However would I explain myself to M?"_ Q closed his eyes for a moment in relief; hurting Bond was the last thing he wanted to do. Jim kissed his cheek as if understanding exactly what had just been going through his mind, and then grinned.

"Ye of little faith," he teased, but Q could tell that Jim was also pleased with James' response.

Forty minutes later, James and Sebastian arrived back at the base. Q rushed to meet them with a grin, excited to get his hands on the intel that hard drive possessed. James smiled, amused, and passed the drive over with a flourish.

Q immediately set to work breaking the encryptions on the drive, and it was  _glorious._

The man they'd taken this from had been a high-ranking MI6 agent, but unbeknownst to M or anyone else, he was selling state secrets, hence the practical  _army_ of mercenaries-disguised-as-guards the guy had had guarding his place. Q and Jim had first considered simply  _buying_ the information from the man, but he'd been cocky and rude and Q wanted  _everything_ he knew the agent possessed, not just the scraps he was selling.

The agent had stumbled upon something huge and he hadn't even realized it. Q, however, was completely aware of what he now had in his hands.

"Well?" Jim asked him, propping his hip against Q's desk. His expression was light, but Q could see the strain underneath it. The outcome of this information was very important to the criminal despite how he tried to hide it, and the hacker was determined to not disappoint. It was important to him too, after all.

Q looked at Jim and smiled, wide and excited. "Looks like it's time to track down The Woman."

* * *

When Q was ten minutes from his flat, he got an alert on his phone that someone had broken in. Frowning, he pulled up the video feed aimed at his front door and rewound a little bit untilthere. Q's eyebrows shot up. "Well, shit," he muttered with a sigh. He sent off a brief text to Jim and then one to James, and then simply waited for his cab to arrive at his building.

The elevator ride up to his floor was tense, and Q had a flash back to almost three months ago when he made this same ride up, knowing that Jim was waiting for him in his apartment, knowing that his life was about to change. This wasn't going to be nearly as drastic, but it certainly was introducing a serious dilemma.

The man was sitting in the exact spot Jim had been, on the couch smack dab in the center of the room. Q fingered the switchblade in his jacket pocket, examining the person he hadn't seen for a very long time.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes," Q greeted the black-haired detective pleasantly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Quartermaster," Sherlock Holmes greeted in return, matching Q's tone. "I thought it was time we met."

Q rose an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Holmes nodded slowly. "Yes. It seems you've gotten yourself quite close to James Moriarty. That's a topic for conversation."

The hacker suppressed a sigh. Q had known that Mycroft Holmes telling Sherlock about everything _(did Mycroft tell him_ everything? _Truly?)_ that had been going on was an eventuality, but honestly the hacker hadn't thought it would happen so soonanother  _month_ at least. M was the type to handle any possible problems in-house, and Mycroft's defining personality traitno matter how he tried to deny itwas his protectiveness over his little brother.

That protectiveness had also kept Mycroft from ever introducing Sherlock and Q, despite their histories.

Instead of reacting, Q simply rose an eyebrow. "Mycroft Holmes sharing state secrets with his little brother? I did expect more from the Ice Man."

Sherlock was delightfully hard to read, but his expression tightened at the mention of Jim's nickname for Mycroft.

A thought suddenly occurred to Q, considering how much Jim and Sherlock had in common; the hacker glanced around his flat, looking for any signs of a blond soldier waiting in the wings to protect the genius. Actuallyand Q contained an amused smile at thisit seemed that Q would fit right in with that kind of plan as well.

And, sure enough, Q could see the edge of a shadow hiding down the hall. The hacker twirled the knife in his pocket. "Will Doctor Watson be joining us or simply crouching by my bathroom?"

Irritation at having been found out flashed across Holmes' face, and after a few awkward moments John Watson walked into the living room. His gun was held expertly in his hands, but he wasn't aiming it  _at_ Q presently, which Q counted as a win. His expression was set in determination and his body was angled towards Holmes as he walked forward. Q wondered whether or not the two were fucking yet, because they were so obviously hopelessly in love with each other.

For no other reason than his own amusement, Q decided he'd ask just that, if a bit more delicately.  _The Virgin,_ Jim had called Sherlock once upon a time. "Are the two of you sleeping together yet?"

The look on Holmes' face was  _comical,_ and Watson's cheeks flamed bright red. "Excuse me?" Sherlock asked, a lot less forceful and a lot more squeaky than he'd probably intended the question to be.

"I'll take that as a yes," Q mused with a smile.

James had still been back at the base when Q had sent the text, which was about fifteen minutes away, so if the agent had immediately left than he should've been arriving fairly soon, which Q was looking forward toHolmes had his soldier with a gun ready to shoot, Q thought it only right that he have his own.

Holmes narrowed his eyes. "And you and Moriarty, then?" he asked, but his tone was defensive, trying to reflect Q's question back and make the hacker uncomfortable in turn. Sadly for Sherlock, Q had moved past being embarrassed about what he and Jim did in the bedroom  _long_ ago.

"Oh yes," Q replied simply. He pulled a lascivious smile onto his face, one he'd seen James wear many times in the past. "Would you like details? I heard you had  _quite_ the fascination with Jim once upon a time."

 _Ooh,_ hit a sore spot. Watson went rigid and Holmes pursed his lips, glancing over worriedly at his partner before forcibly turning his attention back to Q.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "MI6 is curious to know why you've gone dark in your communications, and where the Double-Oh agent who was watching you has gone."

Right on cue, the apartment door opened, admitting one such Agent James Bond. He looked exactly the same as he had when Q had seen him half an hour ago, wearing the gray suit that hid a variety of weapons and made his ass look spectacular. In his hands was his Walther PPK, at the ready but his stance relaxed; James Bond was a predator no matter what.

Holmes got to his feet. "007, I presume." He folded his hands behind his back, probably trying to hide nervous fidgeting now that he was facing a highly trained killer. In response to his partner's actions, Watson moved forward, standing by the detective's side. He rose his gun and pointed it at James, who simply rose an eyebrow in response.

"That would be me," James agreed easily. He gave Q a quick once-over, checking for anything wrong, but Q only smiled pleasantly at him.

"It seems that Mr. Holmes the younger decided to drop by for a chat about Jim," the hacker informed the agent. "Mr. Holmes the older, unsurprisingly, has shared the details of this operation with his baby brother."

The subtle look James gave him was one that clearly said  _How are we playing this?_ They hadn't yet prepared for this meetinghell, Q hadn't actually been expecting Sherlock to go to  _him_ so it made sense that James was unsure whether now was the time to reveal the change of allegiance. Frankly, Q was playing it by ear.

"The Quartermaster of MI6 and a Double-Oh have gone rogue," Holmes replied, each word precise. He was still nervous, but he'd faced many dangerous people in the past, so he was determined not to show it. "I am the best at what I do, and I know James Moriarty; of course Mycroft brought me in on this."

Q decided that he liked Sherlock Holmes, but he wasn't that much of a fan of that superior tone of his, put on or not. And he  _definitely_ didn't like the way the detective spoke as if he understood Jim better than anyone else.

Someday, Q was sure, the two of them would sit down and have a long conversation. Q was very curious to talk to the man who had held Jim's obsession for so long, who still had a special place in the criminal's crazy head. And he knew that Sherlock was curious about him in return, the only person to ever truly stand at Jim's side.

"Yes, but you see, for once in his life I believe that Mycroft Holmes doesn't have all the information," Q said breezily, making a decision.

He had Holmes' attention. "How so?"

Q reached into his pocketignoring the way Watson's gun inched and James' twitched in returnand pulled out his cellphone. He scrolled through his various screens and pulled up a piece of information from the hard drive they'd just gotten and locked the rest of his phone so nothing else could be accessed, then tossed the device to Holmes.

The detective caught it deftly and looked down at it, scanning the text. His eyes widened and he looked up at Q, his lips parting. "I don't understand," he said, shaking his head minutely. He looked slightly... _lost._ Off-balance. A little nervous.

"Happens every once in a while," Q teased subtly. "You see? Mycroft Holmes knows almost everything there is to know, but not  _quite_ everything."

The room fell into a tense silence as Sherlock looked back down at the phone, reading the information again and then once more.

This was a tipping point. Q was pretty sure he knew what Holmes was going to dofor all his unpredictability he was surprisingly predictable when it came to certain thingsbut there was still a chance Sherlock was going to fall the other way. He had a good life going for him, and it would be _easy_ for him to wash his hands of this by telling Mycroft what he knew and having Q and James locked up for supposedly switching sides.

When Holmes rose his head again and met Q's gaze, his expression was set, his mind made up.

Q smiled. "Glad we have an understanding."

* * *

"Well, well," Jim purred, looking over the group in front of him, "isn't this interesting?"

Q rolled his eyes and ignored the brief flare of jealousy in him at the way Jim's eyes locked onto Holmes, hungry and excited. Jim was _Q's,_ the hacker knew; it was just hard to remember that when the criminal was looking at the detective as if he wanted be locked in a room alone with the man. Q rolled his shoulders and pushed past the feeling.

"Did you even see the text I sent you?" Q asked Jim in exasperation. The shorter man had looked briefly surprised when he met up with Q and the current group of people at the neutral location Q had texted Sebastian.

After a moment, Jim tore his heavy gaze away from Sherlock and looked at Q. His eyes narrowed momentarily as he examined the hacker and then his lips parted, and a pleased smile slid across his face. Q pursed his lips; sometimes he hated how easily Jim could read him.

"No, darling, I didn't, I was in the middle of orturing-tay the isoner-pray for the next piece of the uzzle-pay. Sebby got your message, though, so here we are!"

Jim's smile was wide, happy and fond as he looked at Q, and the expression let something tight release in his chest. From the way Jim winked at him, the criminal was well aware.

They did make quite the odd group, all things considered. Three black-haired geniuses, three blond soldiers, and tension thick enough you couldn't even cut a knife through it.

Jim was sitting in the middle of the safe house's strangely ornate couch, legs crossed and arms thrown over the back of it. Q was slightly off to the side of the room, hands folded on the table in front of him, posture perfect. Holmes was standing a few feet away from him, his body perfectly still in a way that was deliberate, hands clasped behind his backhe was excited the same as Jim and trying to hide it.

Watson was close to Holmes' side, practically thrumming with how much he hated this situation. Sebastian was slouching in an armchair between Jim and Q, sharpening his knives but still keeping a keen eye on everything. James was leaning against the wall by the door, arms loosely folded across his chest as he watched the interactions. The agent caught Q's gaze and rose an eyebrow.

"How did you survive?" Holmes asked Jim, his eyes flicking up and down the criminal as if he could deduce on his person something that had occurred five years ago.

In response, Jim just shook his head, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "Some secrets aren't for your ears, my darling Holmes."

"You shot yourself in the head," the detective argued.

"And you didn't even check my body," Jim agreed easily, nodding his head. Then he looked over at Q, raising an eyebrow in question.  _Direct me, Alec._ Q licked his lips.

"As much fun as taking a trip down memory lane is," the hacker said, drawing the room's attention to himself, "we  _do_ actually have something rather important to discuss."

Holmes narrowed his eyes, glancing between Jim and Q as if trying to figure something out. Jim simply smiled benignly at the look. Q ignored it completely. "We knew that eventually you'd turn up, Mr. Holmes, but you're definitely here a lot sooner than I'd thought you would." A brief, smug look flashed across the detective's face, and Q rolled his eyes. "That isn't a  _compliment,_ and certainly has nothing to do with you; it has  _everything_ to do with your brother.

"However, your presence here now could be... _helpful,_ considering your history with the target and your wide skillset."

Since being shuffled into a car and taken to a separate location, Watson had been deathly silent, a look in his eye that promised trouble. And ever since seeing Jim the doctor had seemed to be amping himself up more and more untilnow. His hand reached for the gun at his side. Q sighed. "Bond," he drawled.

Before Watson could so much as aim his Browning at Jim, James was on him, taking the gun and pinning the doctor to the floor. Holmes jumped back, startled, and Sebastian got to his feet. For a few moments Watson struggled against hold but then he went limp, squeezing his eyes shut in agitation.

"Are you going to play nice, Dr. Watson?" James asked quietly. He looked up at Q and smiled that brilliant smile of his, which Q couldn't help but return. As soon as Q had said his name the agent had been moving; he hadn't had to ask what Q meant or what he wanted. He'd simply known Q so well that it had been pure instinct.

"Yes, fine," Watson grumbled. "Let me up."

After looking at Q for confirmation James did just that, standing and offering the doctor a hand. As soon as Watson was on his feet Holmes rushed to his side, glancing over him as if making sure he was alright. Q resisted rolling his eyes.

"If we're done with all the excitement?" Q prompted, raising an eyebrow.

"What information are we missing?" Holmes asked after a moment. The way he said it, the way he purposefully angled his body towards Q, made the hacker chuckle in amusement. The detective had seen Q directing the conversation and now he was testing the way power was controlled. He was expecting Jim to yank the attention back, to re-take control. He was in for a let down.

All the same, Q looked over at Jim. The two shared an amused look before turning back to face Holmes. Qnot Jimwas the one who answered the question.

"Quite a lot, I'd imagine," the hacker said. "Despite how often you get yourself involved in affairs of the state, you are  _not,_ in fact, MI6 or MI5. However, since you're  _here_ and your help is not... _unwelcome,_ I suppose there's quite a lot of classified information to be shared.

"There was a criminal organization called  _Spectre_ that had operated in secret for quite a long time. A little under three years ago MI6 took out their leadership, and about a year ago we finally tracked down the last threads of the organization. Or so we thought. Earlier today a hard drive from a corrupt MI6 agent's computer came into our possession and there was proof of a small Spectre sect that had managed to avoid notice. It was well hiddenthe agent probably hadn't even realized what he'd come across.

"The reason we're not just leaving this to MI6 to handle is because this particular  _sect_ has..." he rolled his shoulders, debating. "They have something in their custody that we want."

"And what does Irene Adler have to do with all of this?" Holmes asked, his voice impressively even considering his emotional history with The Woman. At the detective's side, Watson became even tenser. Another person the doctor was jealous of, apparently.

"She, in her quote-un-quote  _death,_ seems to have gotten involved with a woman who is married to one of the men in charge of this group," Jim explained, examining his fingernails disinterestedly. "He learned who Ms. Adler was and requested her  _services_ to get some information from a target. She is now on their payroll. We find her, we find them."

"And what is this  _thing_ they have that you want?" Watson demanded, looking decidedly less on board than his partner.

"I don't believe that's any of your concern," Jim said with a dangerous smirk.

The smile Watson sent back was just as threatening, and Q had to admit it was a little hot. "Oh, I disagree. You see, you need  _our_ help to find Irene Adler and get whatever this thing is. So I say that unless you tell us  _what_ you want so badly we aren't going to do _shit_ for you."

Q examined Sherlock Holmes. The tall man was looking at the ground, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. He was biting the inside of his lip and was standing very tense, not looking at his partner or voicing his agreement. Q smirked and looked at Jim and saw that the criminal had come to the exact same conclusion as the hacker.

"Doctor Watson, I  _do_ believe you should be silent and let the big boys speak, seeing as you are completely and utterly wrong," Jim said, smiling, staring at Sherlock.

For a moment Watson looked like he was going to argue that Jim didn't know shit, but then the doctor looked at his partner and understanding dawned. Holmes was going to track down Irene Adler and tell them where she was for three very specific reasons: 1, He wanted to find her anyway; 2, he'd just found Jim and didn't want to lose contact again; and 3, Holmes had a pathological need to prove himself to certain people, Jim Moriarty being one of them.

Honestly, Watson needed to stop being in denial. Fuck knew that Q wasn't letting himself ignore the bond Jim shared with the detective.

Holmes rose his head, chin held high, and didn't look at his partner, meeting Jim's gaze. "Do you have something we could start with?" he asked, tone prideful. At his side, Watson let out a slow sigh and shook his head minutely, clenching his jaw.

A slow, slightly-manic smile slid across Jim face, lighting him up. He didn't speak for a little while, simply holding the detective's gaze. Then, "You two lovebirds are going to Brazil."

* * *

That night, in bed, Jim did everything that he knew Q liked, showing him in every touch that he loved him, that he  _belonged_ to him, that though Sherlock Holmes was special he was  _nothing_ compared to Q. And Q took it all and gave the same back because at the end of the day it would always be the two of them, and Q was determined to not let either of them forget it.

The next day, as soon as Holmes and Watson got on their flight to South America, Q, Jim, James, and Sebastian began packing up whatever they wanted/needed and got on their own flight to Italy; now that they officially had the attention of Mycroft Holmesthe implication being that Q and James were now considered hostilesit was time to get out of the country and out of MI6's backyard.

Every day for a week Holmes checked in with the progress the pair had made, which Q thought was rather adorable; if Watson wasn't around, they probably could've had a pretty good chance at getting Holmes to join them considering how much he felt the need to prove his skills to them. Watson being _tragically_ killed off was still a possibility, of course. They'd have to make it look like the government's fault, though, to separate Holmes from his elder brother...

Q jerked where he was sitting, eyes going wide for a moment. He'd surprised himself. Almost two months ago he'd made the decision to accept everything Jim had to offer. He'd accepted the dark parts of himself and tried to not look back, pulling James along with him and feeling grateful for how everything had fallen into place for him.

In the seven weeks since that decision, he'd ordered deaths, watched people be put under the knife at his command, and just felt viciously satisfied when things went his way. But those thoughts he'd just hadmurdering an innocent doctor to try to bring his genius counterpart to the dark side? That reason was so much more blasé than he ever thought he was. But was it  _really_ all that different? Just another death he was considering to achieve a welcome outcome.

It wouldn't really be that difficult...

"I know that face," Jim purred. Q glanced up and saw the criminal leaning over the back of the couch, his face split into a wide grin, eyes gleaming as he looked down at Q. "That face spells brilliantly awful things for other people." He jumped, vaulting himself over the couch and extending his legs over Q's lap.

"John Watson," Q said slowly, tasting the vowels in his mouth.

Jim hummed, effortlessly following Q's train of thought, same as always. It briefly made Q feel warm, happy at how thoroughly he was understood. "Could pin it on the Ice Man, slightly indirectly, of course. Create a divide there, then swoop in offering everything Sherlock's ever wanted..." he smiled at Q. "I always thought Sherlock Holmes would make a truly  _wonderful_ devil."

"Balance," Q murmured. Jim looked over at him, frowning in annoyance, but didn't dispute the claim.

Before Jim could say anything, James came strolling in. "News from Holmes just came inhe found Irene Adler, and she's given him a location of the Spectre base."

Jim grinned and jumped to his feet, clapping loudly once. "Looks like we're headed to Brazil!"

Within two hours, the three of them and Sebastian were on a private plane headed for Rio, their destination a large town some miles past the outskirts of the city.

Sebastian spent the twelve hour plane ride alternating between cleaning his rifle, sharpening his knives, and reading a crappy romance novel that he triedand failedto hide the title and plot of from the two geniuses and spy he was currently on a plane with. James closed his eyes as soon as they got on the plane and barely moved afterwards, even though all of them knew he wasn't actually sleeping. And Jim and Q spent the time discussing anything from astrophysics (something Jim knew more about) to analytical chemistry (something  _Q_ knew more about) to the various forms of torture (something they were evenly matched in).

When they landed Sebastian got them a car and took them to the house Holmes had sent the address of. The detective and the doctor were waiting inside along with the one and only Irene Adler.

When The Woman saw Jim she swallowed and looked away, hiding her fear well but not well enough. In an attempt to disguise her avoidance she looked at Q, raising an eyebrow.

"You seem a little out of place here," she told him with a seductive smile, and Q barely resisted rolling his eyes; she was not the first personand would not be the lastto judge his competence based on the fact that he had messy hair and glasses and liked sweaters. He certainly looked far better put together than John Watson,  _that_ was for damn sure.

"Give it some time," Jim told her in a cheery voice as he strode into the room like a predator. "This man here is  _wonderfully_ deadly."

Having known what Jim Moriarty was capable of, Adler looked like she was going to take his word for it. Still, she looked Q up and down with an appraising, sexual glance. "That so? I wonder what you look like under all those layers..." she rose an artfully sculpted eyebrow.

Q smirked back at her, the shark-like one that he knew darkened his eyes and made people hesitate. "Trust me," he murmured, setting his things down, "you wouldn't be able to handle me, Ms. Adler."

Her eyebrows shot up, her lips parting in delighted surprise, and she looked over at Jim with a smile. "He's  _yours_ then, yes?"

Jim was looking at Q with dark eyes of his own, a slightly lustful smile tugging at his lips. "Oh I think it's rather the other way around."

"If we could get back to the subject at hand," Holmes interjected stiffly from where he was sitting at the head of the dining room table, Watson at his right. Q and Jim exchanged a smirk.

"Of  _course,_ my darling detective," Jim said, sliding into the chair at the right of the other head of the table. Holmes looked at the choice of seating with a brief moment of confusion but quickly covered it when Q sat at the head, James sitting across from Jim and at Q's left. Sebastian took the seat next to Jim without any fanfare. Adler paused momentarily, caught off-guard by Jim deferring to Q, but then she slid into the seat next to Sebastian, sitting across from John and at Sherlock's left hand.

Q could feel Adler examining him with renewed interest but ignored her, raising an eyebrow at Holmes. "Well?"

And Sherlock, being one to never give up the chance to show off, began to speak.

He detailed the way they'd found Adler (a sexual story that had Watson shifting uncomfortably and The Woman smirking), the way she'd agreed to help them (the promise of safety as a bribe, but Q easily could've told the two men she would've helped them as soon as Sherlock even _looked_ at her, she was so far gone over him), and then described in perfect detail the compound the last remains of Spectre was using as a home base, along with how many men they should expect to encounter.

The plan, from there, was simple. James and Sebastian would lead the attack in along with a team of Jim'snow  _Q's_ men that were stationed in Rio. Jim and Q would go in as well to find what they'd been after, and Holmes, Watson, and Adler would remain behind.

Predictably, Watson began to object. "We were the ones that figured all this out!" he argued. Q had a feeling that the doctor didn't actually care about being on the raid, but more felt sick of following the orders of criminals. Plus, he probably just wanted to hurt something or someone to get out his pent up aggression. "And I'm a solid fighter and gunmanI could be of help."

Jim just smiled and tilted his head. "James, if you would?"

James smirked in response and stood up. "With pleasure." He pulled a gun from the bag of weapons at his feet and aimed for Watson's heart. Holmes jumped to his feet in panic, but it wasn't a bullet that slammed into Watson, simply a dart filled with a fast-acting sedative.

The detective caught the doctor as he dropped, making him comfortable on the ground and then standing up to his full height and glaring at Jim with everything he was worth.

"Was that really necessary?" he snapped, his gaze flashing down at his partner and then up again.

"Yes," Q said dangerously, pushing himself to his feet and narrowing his eyes. He was done with Sherlock Holmes acting like he was in charge.

"Yes, Because if we let Watson go on the raid, you and he would come up with some  _i_ _diotic_ secret plan to somehow try to steal what we're after or do  _something_ to pull one over on us. Or if we just left him hereawakehe'd probably wait five minutes and then follow us  _anyway,_ which would be an even  _bigger_ problem than before and endanger everyone's lives. So  _yes,_ Mr. Holmes, it was most _certainly_ necessary."

Jim was smirking, not bothering to hide the fact that the pure threat in Q's voice was turning him on, and Sebastian was leaning back in his chair with an amused smile. James was examining Q in the way he always did when Q showed his darker edge, like he was still piecing this new side of the hacker with the softer one he'd known back at MI6. It wasn't a bad look, or a judgmental one, and after all these weeks it had become far less searching and far more understanding.

And still, no matter what, James always looked at him with 100% pure, unadulterated acceptance, affection, and  _loyalty._

Sherlock, on the other hand, was gaping at Q, as if he hadn't expected to see something in him that resembled Jim in its dark intensity. Holmes was a smart mana  _very_ smart manso if he didn't start cluing into the reality of the situation Q was going to have to hurt him.

And then there was Irene Adler. She hadn't moved through the excitement, not even to flinch. She sat with perfect posture, her hands folded on the table, her legs crossed daintily at the knees. She, like Sherlock, was looking at Q, but in a  _much_ different fashion. It was a look Q was used to seeing on James' faceanalytical and assessing but with an edge of easy seduction.

Irene Adler, Q had a feeling, could've made a damn good Double-Oh.

"Woo!" Jim laughed. He pushed his chair back onto two legs and then crashed loudly back to all four. "I do believe we have plots to enact! Seb, call Rogers, tell him the plan. Have him call when he and the team are in the area. James, put the good doctor in a bed, would you? I do believe waking up from being drugged will be disorienting enough. Sherlock go eat something, you look like you haven't had a bite since we last saw you."

Sebastian pushed himself to his feet, shooting Q a quick wink as he left the room, pulling out his cellphone. James gave Q an amused look as he lifted Watson into a fireman's carry and headed further into the house, presumably searching for a bedroom. Holmes hesitated for a moment, looking at Jimwho was staring at Q with a smilethen at Adlerwho, though in a different fashion, was  _also_ staring at Qbefore turning away and hurrying after James.

"Well that was hot," Jim drawled. Q tilted his head, looking over at the criminal, and smiled. He was rewarded with a large one in return. Jim pushed himself to his feet and stretched theatrically before leaning in towards Q, bracing his hands on either side of Q's head.

Q rose an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Can I help you, Mr. Moriarty?"

Jim hummed, dragging his eyes suggestively up and down Q's body. When he met the hacker's gaze again his eyes were dark with lust and he dove forward, capturing Q's lips in a searing kiss. Q wrapped a hand in the criminal's tie and pulled, tightening it slightly and keeping Jim pinned against him. When the two finally had to part for air Jim grinned against his lips.

"So,  _Sir,"_ he whispered, "Got any ideas of how to keep busy until our boys arrive? I'd say we have about half an hour."

And  _hell,_ did Q want to say yes. Jim was looking at him like he was literally the entire world, and having James Moriarty call him  _Sir_ did certain things to him. But if this break-in was to actually be successful, Q needed to take a look at the security systems they had in place, which meant he needed to spend the next half hour on his laptop, putting the finer details of the plan together.

So instead of saying  _hell fucking yes,_ Q grinned slyly and gave Jim a slight shove, pushing him away. "Sorry, gotta do some Big Boy work."

Jim slouched and put a hand to his heart, expression going wide in a parody of shock and offense. "Well, I  _never..."_ he shook his head theatrically. Then he darted forward, pressing a quick, heavy kiss to Q's lips that had the hacker laughing, and then flitted off down the hall.

"Don't start a fight with Holmes!" Q called after him, because Jim needling Sherlock about Watson was  _not_ something they needed in that moment. Jim called back something in old Celtic that had Q smiling again and shaking his head.

"He wasn't wrong," Adler purred, drawing Q's attention back to her. Her expression had changed, far more seductive than assessing now that she was alone with Q.

The hacker rose an eyebrow. "Jim tends to be right about things," he agreed easily, "what particular thing are you referring to?"

The Woman slid gracefully to her feet and walked around the table towards Q, her steps perfectly measured to put a sexy swing to the way her hips moved. She perched on the table next to him. "It  _was_ sexy, what you did back there."

 _Ah._ Q leaned back in his chair in amusement. So that's what this was about. Irene Adler had been using her body and the big brain behind it to control powerful menand womenfor many years. She was an expert at figuring people out and then playing them. The problem was that Q wasn't the slightest bit interested.

Now, that wasn't to say she wasn't his type; quite the contrary, Irene Adler fit the bill. Brilliant, dangerous, sexy, ambitious, clever, morals slightly skewed. If she'd come into his life at a different time, there was every possibility that he would've fallen right for her charms just as Holmes had. But as it was, Irene hadfor probably one of _very_ few times in her careerread him ever so slightly wrong.

But Q was, by nature, a curious person, so instead of waving her off he smiled smugly like she'd successfully stroked his ego. "That so?"

There was a flare in Adler's eyes, the perceived win in her future making her momentarily excited. She hummed in agreement, nodding, and took a slow step forward until she slid onto his lap, a hand running briefly over the hair on his forehead.

"I had my doubts," she murmured in a low, sultry voice. "You simply look so  _young._ But clearly appearances are deceiving; you, Sir, are the most powerful man here."

"I like to think so," Q replied, doing his best to keep the laughter out of his voice. Adler shifted just so, her breasts brushing briefly against his chest.

"Oh yes," The Woman said in that same voice. She stroked a long finger gently over his cheek, her eyes flicking artfully to his lips and then away again. "You commanded  _James Moriarty_ like it was nothing. Many,  _many_ people have tried to do that in the past." Then she slowly leaned in, licking her lips, and went for a kiss Q was sure would be searing and passionate like she'd seen Jim kiss him.

And when it happenedwell, it was  _nothing_ like Jim.

Irene Adler was a dominatrix, so she understood the give and take of control perfectly, but she had clearly misjudged the relationship between Jim and Q. She started well, with heat and fire, but she backed down to his control far too wholly; Q might've been the head of the organization now, and Jim might've given him the lead in the bedroom to even out all the years, but not for one second was Jim anything resembling a purely submissive partner, and Q never wanted him to be.

"Irene," Q sighed against her lips when they stopped kissing for a moment.

"Yes?" she replied, slightly breathless, mostly faked.

Q pulled back an inch more and looked at her with an even gaze. When he spoke, his voice was clear and not in the slightest bit affected by lust. "There are four very good reasons why you and I are not a thing that's going to happen."

For a moment The Woman stared at him, processing how severely he'd caught her by surprise, but then she pulled back slightly too and met his even gaze with a steady one of her own. She rose an eyebrow. "Oh? And what would those be?"

Her voice was still lowered slightly, but this time it seemed less to be actively trying to seduce him and more an overall default for her. It was a default that normally worked, he was sure. She ran a hand through his bangs again.

"First off, you have absolutely zero interest in me, nor I in you," Q said, letting his amusement seep into his voice. "Secondly, I believe the black-haired, sociopathic genius you are _actually_ interested in is down the hall, first bedroom you come across." She tensed slightly at that, but Q was polite enough to pretend he hadn't seen it. "And third, other than the aforementioned detective, I do believe that your tastes tend to avoid those of the male persuasion."

The two of them stared at each other for a long time, Adler examining Q intensely and Q allowing himself to be examined. Then, after a while, a small smile pulled at the dominatrix's lips, looking actually genuine.

"I believe I like you," Adler declared, and Q was surprised to find it sounded like she actually meant it.

"You're not so bad yourself, Ms. Adler," he told her, smiling gently.

The Woman slid gracefully off of his lap and straightened her dress. "I think at this point you can call me Irene, don't you?"

Q smiled and inclined his head. "I think that can be arranged."

 _Irene_ tilted her head, her gaze flicking over him again, but this time not in a sexual manner, which Q was grateful for; he'd been hoping she'd let them move past all that. "I don't think I ever got  _your_ name, though, darling."

Q realized that she was right; his identity simply hadn't come up. "That's easily fixed," he said with a smile shrug and half-smile. "You can call me Q, Irene; just about everyone does."

The Woman's eyebrows shot up but she didn't ask about any relation to MI6, which was a slight relief, and then nodded and turned to go. When she was at the door to the living room she paused and looked back at him. "You said there are  _four_ very good reason we'd never happen, but you only listed three."

Q smiled pleasantly. "Did I?" he mused. "How odd."

For a few more moments Irene stood in the doorway and looked at him, as if waiting for more information, but when Q remained silent she smiled and shook her head ruefully before turning to go. "Happy planning, Q."

* * *

Getting passed Spectre's security systems wasn't actually all that hard, considering that Q had done it many times in the past. The difficult part came when the attack began and they learned that Irene and Holmes' estimation of the number of highly-trained people there was under by about twenty.

Something which Sebastian had a running commentary about over the comms, his annoyance clear and amusing.

To make matters worse, about ten minutes into the raid John Fucking Watson showed up, armed with his Browning and a set expression Q was really starting to hate seeing on the captain's face. The man had shown up at almost the worst possible moment and almost gotten himself shot by James, who even after having identified Watson still looked like he wanted to put a bullet in the doctor, just to teach him a lesson.

Seeing the look both Q and Jim were giving him, James glared right back at the two geniuses and said, "The sedative should've lasted at least another half-hour."

"Sherlock's drugged me many times in the past," Watson supplied helpfully, looking viciously satisfied with his own presence amid the gunfire and fighting. "I've built up a bit of a tolerance to most common sedatives and poisons by this point, so yay to having a crazy boyfriend."

Even with the large amount of added hostiles and the annoying addition of an army doctor, it didn't take James, Sebastian, and the gathered team long to go through the compound and take everybody out. Q and Jim were right there behind the front force, determined to find what they'd been looking for, find what Jim had been after since the fall of Spectre a little under three years ago.

The compound was large, so going from room to room took some time, especially since they had to stop in the control center so that Q could fully take down any remaining security and traps and also download all of the files the Spectre sect had had on their servers. By the time they'd finished clearing the upper two levels, Jim was practically jumping out of his skin at how close they were.

Q didn't know what he'd do if they were wrong and the so-called _CJM_ wasn't even in the hands of Spectre anymore.

The second basement level, predictably, was converted into a floor of prison cells, complete with thick iron bars and small meal slots. Six of the ten cells had people in them, all of them locked down and in various stages of torture or physical harm. As they walked down the hall Jim looked at each prisoner critically, never fully stopping, only slowing to make sure he didn't miss any detail.

Then, on the third to last cell, he stopped. He glared at the man in the cell, his eyes flicking over him again and again as if to double- and triple-check himself. Then, after a solid minute, Jim nodded tightly. "Got it," he muttered.

"The thing you guys have been after is a  _person?"_ Watson asked incredulously, watching as James and Sebastian stepped forward to get the cell door open. Everyone ignored the question, and Watson thankfully didn't try to ask anything more.

Inside the cell, the man was tied to a large metal chair, his pale arms and legs bound to the appendages of it. His head was hanging against his abused chest, leaving only a mess of matted black strands visible. Over his heart there was a tattoo, an old symbol Q could so clearly remember being told the significance of, all those years ago when he met this man.

Jim wasn't moving, just staring, so Q walked forward and knelt in front of the bound man, checking for a pulse. At the gentle touch the man jerked, his head swaying as he fought to lift it. Q heard Jim step closer until he was right behind the hacker.

When the bound man rose his head, he blinked heavily and then squinted at the two of them. One of his eyes was practically swollen shut and his bottom lip was completely busted. His chest and face were collages of various colors of bruises.

"Jim?" the bound man asked blearily, leaning forward slightly in his restraints as if he didn't quite believe his eyes and needed to confirm that it was actually the criminal. Jim stepped forward again so he was standing right in front of the man. Q got to his feet, and the man looked at him, too. "Alec?" he said, just as surprised, and then coughed, his entire body shuddering.

Q let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and extended his hand backwards; immediately James handed him his good knifethe one that was really good at cutting through ropesand Q set to work freeing the prisoner's limbs.

"Hell, Jim," the bound man croaked, letting his head fall back against the edge of the chair's back. He shot the criminal a tired smile. "Been a while."

"Good to see you too, Jamie," Jim said, glancing around the cell. "Been slacking off, I see."

"Well, you know me," he said, and then coughed again. Q freed the last of the ropes and stood up, ready to help the bound man stand.

Q put an arm around the prisoner's shoulders and heaved him to his feet, grunting as he adjusted his weight to help keep the man up. He wasn't hurt too badly and managed to hold himself pretty steady, but he was still swaying too much for Q's liking.

"I'm alright," the prisoner forced out between gritted teeth, making Q send him a look. The man attempted a grin, and Q was very familiar with how charming the expression could be, but right now it was tired and strained.

Q saw Jim's hands twitch slightly with the instinctive urge to reach out, but instead his rolled his shoulder and turned to walk back out of the cell.

"Who the hell is this guy?" Watson asked, mystified, as they made their way back down the hall, moving much more slowly now that they had a beaten up man with them. James kept pace on the other side of the bound man, ready to catch him in case he dropped.

Jim still wouldn't look at the man Q was supporting, but he didn't rush ahead, either, walking slowly next to Q.

"Doctor Watson, James Bond," Jim drawled, "Meet my little brother, Colonel James Moriarty."

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo if you didn't guess it, there's gonna be a Part 3.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this and thanks for reading!


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